Iota
by mew-tsubaki
Summary: M&MWP, slash, drabble. James is certain Rabastan thinks he doesn't care, and sometimes James wonders the same thing. But maybe that's not true at all. Mention if used, thx. *For M&MWP Drabble Tag*


**Iota**

A HariPo drabble

by mew-tsubaki

Note: The _Harry Potter_ characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not me. **This pairing was discovered by my pal, ****Morghen****, so please give her a little mention if you write them**! **Thanks**! It is one of many of **Mew and Mor's Weird Pairings**, most of which you may find in the **M&MWP forum. **Check out and join the forum FUN! Read, review, and enjoy!

For: **Drabble Tag** in the M&MWP forum. Pairing: James Potter/Rabastan Lestrange. Prompt: collarbones.

- ^-^3

It's like something from an alternate universe.

The thought surely would make Padfoot laugh, if you were to voice it aloud. But Padfoot wouldn't laugh at you too badly, because he can empathize. He loves going off into his own little world whenever Moony enters his brain, and you like it when that happens. You like it because a) you're happy for your two best mates, you are, and b) then Padfoot won't be so honest with you and call you a hypocrite.

That's what you are. You're a hypocrite.

You've tried so hard to convince Evans that you want her badly, love her dearly, need her desperately, that you've convinced the school and almost convinced yourself that you mean it.

But you don't, do you? If you did, then you wouldn't be a hypocrite, sitting here lazily tugging on Rabastan's length jet locks.

He's cute (and boy, does he hate it when you call him that). He's blushing quite a bit—or maybe not all that much, because his pale skin just flushes more easily than most people's. Rabastan, for all his whining that he never gets to see you, at last doesn't know what to do with you now that you've devoted a full two hours to him on the green near the Whomping Willow on this beautiful autumn day. The tree's calm today, so all it does is add to the breathtaking scenery before you.

"Rab," you say. He looks at you, and your mind goes blank. Whatever you'd planned on saying has flown out of your head—no, wait, did you even have anything to say? Maybe you just wanted to say his name out loud.

"What?" he asks. His ultramarine (Godric, you looked up that specific blue just so you could describe his eyes, didn't you?) eyes land on you, and he looks so innocent. Maybe he's not that innocent when you beckon him to intrude on you in the locker-room after a match, but he's still rather green. You like that about him, and how he's not Dark like so many of his compatriots in his House. Perhaps someday he'll be forced into a bad life (because you've heard the rumors about Rodolphus and his new bride, Bellatrix), but for now Rabastan is all yours—clean, white, quiet, and innocent.

Instead of saying "Nothing," you rest your head against his shoulder and find your mind wanders to a funny topic. How can he sit out here in the chill without his sweater? He's even loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. Looking at him makes you hot—not in the crude sense, but physically _hot_. You're sitting with your sweater and scarf on, and he's acting as though it's spring or summer.

You trace the edge of his profile with your eyes. Slightly rounded forehead, thin black brow, small indent by the eyes that flows into a regal-looking nose (hmph, not all purebloods have royal looks, you think as you turn your own pointed snout into his shoulder), boyish lips, and a rounded yet still masculine chin. His chin creates a line with his strong jaw, and your eyes drift down over his slender neck, over the bump that is his Adam's apple, and down to where the shadows of his collar darken his skin. Your eyes dip down as far as they can go, grazing on his collarbones and stopping at the start of his chest, for from there the shirt obscures the obscene. You've seen all of him before and know him very well inside and out, but you feel delightfully scandalous as you wonder if that shirt and tie are hiding any kind of surprise. You want to reach over and unfasten the rest of the buttons, but you don't, because he'd hate you for groping him in public, even if no one would dare to near the Whomping Willow just to see what exactly the super-heterosexual James Thaddeus Potter is doing with the likes of the younger Lestrange brother.

Then Rabastan squeezes your leg, and his blush deepens. Ah, so he likes being the apple of your eye. He definitely understands that you could never convince him otherwise, convince him that he isn't the one you love most. He's being so sentimental in response to your sentimentality, and, in a flurry of possessiveness, you wrap your scarf around him, because the rest of the world doesn't deserve to see so much of this sweet, sweet person. No, he's for your eyes only. He understands and squeezes your leg again and pats it.

You relax at his touch. The thought of him at your side is all you need right now, and no one's looking to the future and wondering how far this affection will take you and how long it will last you.

- ^-^3

**Wow… Shit, man. This got really poetic on me all of a sudden. XDD But I love it! I should try more RabJames…but it conflicts with my JamesRemus love…which conflicts with my RemusSirius love…which conflicts with-*ASDFGHJKL* I just have too many ships. Yup. ;P And there's a little thing in there just for you, ****Morghen****, and there's a throw-back to my old, huge RemusSirius fic, **_**45 Ways to Make a Werewolf Fall for You**_**, so readers of that should pick up on it (just something about James), and I don't know if James had a pointy knows. But apparently he thinks so. XDDD**

**Thanks for reading and please review!**

**-mew-tsubaki ;)**


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